Being pregnant with my second child has been quite the journey. I never thought I would experience such strong emotions during this pregnancy, especially when it had nothing to do with the baby. Instead, it all revolved around my husband.
A Friendship in Action
During most of my second pregnancy, I found solace in hiding away and indulging in my junk food cravings. However, my best friend, Ava, had other plans. She wanted me out of the house and insisted we do things together.
One day, as she made me a strawberry milkshake and I put my swollen feet up, she mentioned a pottery place she had heard about. Apparently, they offered pottery parties where we could create things for my baby’s nursery.
At first, the idea didn’t appeal to me. I had a hundred other things in mind that I wanted to do. But Ava’s enthusiasm was infectious, and she convinced me to give it a try. She even went as far as arranging for my husband, Malcolm, to watch our firstborn, Tess, for the evening. It was clear that Ava really wanted me to get out of the house.
A Shocking Coincidence
When we arrived at the pottery place, we were surprised to find 15 other women booked for the same slot. Ava had promised me a fun and relaxing evening, but little did we know that we were in for quite a wild ride.
As we chatted and shared birth stories, one woman caught our attention. She mentioned a date with her boyfriend who suddenly had to leave because his sister-in-law went into labor. The woman was perplexed why he had to go, especially since it was nearly midnight and they were both exhausted.
It turned out that her boyfriend’s name was Malcolm, and Olivia was in labor. The coincidence sent chills down my spine. My name was Olivia, and Tess was also born on the same day.
While Ava and I exchanged worried glances, the woman continued her story. Six months later, she gave birth to a son, but Malcolm wasn’t there. He had chosen to be present at his niece’s birth instead, claiming he couldn’t leave. The odds seemed too unlikely.
A Heartbreaking Reality
Ava leaned in and whispered, “Wait, your boyfriend’s name is Malcolm?” I asked the woman, who confirmed it. I showed her a photo of Malcolm, Tess, and myself on my phone and asked if that was him. She stared at the photo, then uttered, “Your husband? But he’s the father of my child, too.”
My heart sank, and the room started to spin. It was a surreal nightmare. I realized that my husband had not only cheated on me but had also fathered a child with this woman. The other women in the pottery party exchanged sympathetic glances, understanding the gravity of the situation.
